Advice
by Synbu
Summary: Jarlaxle finally decides to follow Entreri's advice concerning his attire to Entreri's dismay. SLASH


**_A/N: Alrighty. First slash fic EVER. Why did I do this, you ask? Mostly coz I had a bet on with Prisoner 4257 and thus had to finally write Entreri/Jarlaxle. She now owes me a Sonic Strawberry Slush. One thing: this IS SLASH, albeit implied- if it offends you/ makes you cry/ traumatizes you, DON'T READ IT. _**

**_Signor Disclamer: No, don't own Jarly and Entreri (however much I would like to think I do) and I never will. On with the show!_**

"I'm bored," Jarlaxle declares suddenly, removing his hat with an overdramatic flourish. Entreri glances over with an ever-suffering eye. Noticing the sudden change in his companion's appearance, he raises his hands and claps softly.

"Finally. That horrific thing has left your head. I was beginning to think Kimmuriel had sewn it onto your skull," Entreri quips, ceasing his clapping. Jarlaxle turns a bright maroon eye his way, the light making it seem as if it were glittering. With pure evil.

"How ridiculous! Kimmuriel can't sew!"

Entreri's eyebrows lock together briefly, his face the picture of despair.

"That wasn't the point."

"Wasn't it? Your whole statement hinged upon the declaration that Kimmuriel had sewn my hat to my head-"

"It was an exaggeration, Jarlaxle. My point was that you should remove your hat more often. I apologize that my comment was too subtle for you to catch, but there you have it."

"I should remove my hat more often?" Entreri buries his attention in the book sitting in front of him, completely missing the absolutely lewd grin beginning to form Jarlaxle's face.

"I'm bored," Jarlaxle reiterates, slowly stalking his companion. Entreri's eyebrow twitches.

"I'm not your mother, Jarlaxle- I don't have the awful responsibility of keeping you entertained."

"Perhaps you do."

This makes Entreri sit straighter, a shudder preemptively moving down his spine as his companion inches ever closer.

"On second thought, I am incredibly glad you're not my mother- it would be rather traumatic, having a mother who shaved her face with a dagger. I suppose I would not have many enemies, since you would have to stab them all with your oddity of a sword. You might still have to entertain me, though."

"No. I'm quite sure that I'm spared that…_wonderful_ chore. If you're so bored, find something to do."

"Yes."

The simple response stuns Entreri. Never has he heard Jarlaxle give a simple answer, let alone an agreement, to the human.

"Good. That's that, then."

Jarlaxle rests both hands on Entreri's shoulders.

The assassin starts suddenly, glancing up at his companion's completely terrifying smile.

"You didn't ask what it was that I'd found."

Entreri's stomach suddenly plummets.

"I assumed that it would not be anything of interest to me-"

"Should I truly remove my hat more often?"

What a stupid question.

"You should tear the thing in half, wrap it in a bundle with that ridiculous monstrosity you call a feather and toss it in the nearest fire. Only then can we be free of its foul presence."

"Would you like to see me remove anything else?"

Entreri's common sense screams at him to keep quiet, but some inner demon spurs him on to continue.

"The vest. It's an insult to masculinity everywhere. I'm surprised you haven't been mistaken for a tavern wench recently."

"Ah, well, that's not good, is it?" A rustling noise accompanies these words as Jarlaxle's hands leave Entreri's shoulders. Despite the fact that he hates religion of any sort, Entreri sends up a brief prayer to whomever is listening at the present time: that Jarlaxle had finally taken the hint and left.

Suddenly, Entreri's world goes black as a large, cloth object collides with his skull and proceeds to obscure his vision.

"What the-?! What are you-?!" Entreri stammers, hands reaching for weapons that aren't there. Inconvenient. Too inconvenient.

"I'm bored," Jarlaxle says again, a laugh in his voice. Entreri leaps up, his hands tangled in the fabric in his desperation to remove the damned thing.

"You'll be dead if you don't discontinue this game," Enteri warns, looking slightly less menacing than usual with a large piece of cloth wrapped around his head.

"Me? Ridiculous! You're the one continuing, not I."

"I didn't take your vest off, you idiot elf."

"But you asked me to. That's as good as doing it yourself."

A derisive snort resounds from within the vest. Jarlaxle grimaces.

"Get anything on that, and I'll make you lick it up."

Entreri's struggles become twice as crazed. Jarlaxle laughs.

"You'll not see it again if I am forced to that."

"Mm. Of course."

A sudden silence falls, disrupted only by Entreri's muffled curses and the rustling of the vest.

"We haven't gotten to know one another better, have we?"

Yet another stupid question.

"I have had the misfortune to be in your company these last years, and I would have to be blind, deaf, numb and devoid of a brain to not gain some inkling of your character. I might not meet your standards of 'living,' but I am not stumbling about, ignorant of the goings on beyond myself."

Jarlaxle flips one hand extravagantly.

"Yes, I know that, but we really haven't gotten to _know_ each other lately. Ever, I mean."

Entreri suddenly freezes, hands and arms still fighting the vest.

"Jarlaxle. No."

"I've put a clinging charm on that vest- it'll cling to your face as long as I wish it."

"Why do you have a clinging vest?!"

"It shows off my figure _so_ nicely."

Entreri snorts again, trying furtively to cover up his sudden anxiety.

"You're insane."

"Why thank you, _abbil_. "

Entreri finds himself at a momentary loss. He staggers forward in the general direction of the elf, tripping over the legs of his chair while doing so.

"You know, it really won't be that bad-"

"No."

"I'm quite flexible."

"That's disturbing on too many levels for me to even count."

"I'm bored, you're not exactly engaged at the present time…what's wrong with a little fun now and then?"

-Later-

Entreri stretches once, reveling in the feel of cotton sheets against his skin. He turns on his side, glancing at the drow lying next to him currently in the motions of lighting a rolled stick of some kind of herb. Jarlaxle glances at his companion once and nods at the roll.

"Cinnamon and tobacco. Care to try?"

Entreri's eyebrow spasms.

"Do not smoke in here."

Jarlaxle laughs breathlessly, taking a drag.

Entreri grabs his companion's arm as it pulls the tobacco stick away, a strange look of urgency in his eyes.

"This never happened. We shall not speak of it. It shall become That Which we Do Not Speak Of. Understand?"

Jarlaxle shrugs.

"We need not tell anyone. Why, how annoying it would be to inform everyone that we meet of what occurs when I find myself with nothing to do!"

"Yes," Entreri sighs, rolling on his back, a relaxed expression on his face.

"We need not tell anything. Especially how good you are at having nothing to do."

Fin!

**_A/N: And there you have it! Flames are a pointless waste of my time and yours- don't do it. It makes you look like you have even less of a life than you already do. Constructive critique (as always) is accepted and appreciated._**


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